Listen closely to the stranger there
Across the way, waiting for an eye
To make the discovery.
Collecting kitchen ware
And discarded cans
The casual knickknacks of the flock.
Like a figured leaf his shadow folds
And weeps alone in doorways
Of abandoned storefronts.
Behold the flesh of wreckage
Broken as a rocking chair
Fearful still of marbled lions.
And the flame that burns on half-deserted
Streets illuminate the well-gowned
And lights him like a crystal ball.
While in the church a dimming
Of the altar lights bring, in gospel voice,
A crowning of the angels.
In this the hour of receding
Sea, quiet spreads like dusk
Over silicate sand.
And Dreams of wailing birds
Signify a journey not completed.
Here in day's ending pause
Sparrows drift downwind
In vortex swirls. Crooked children
Weep for light like broken
Unstilled streams string along
The muddled banks as drifting water
Fills a thousand cups. Let then
The night trundle off the excess
Of a drowning man.
This is the season of our death.
We are slaves of tide and phases
Of the moon. Ave Maria
Fill us with your grace.